“What does that say?” Arden squinted at a notation. “Splinters?”

“Removed from palms of hands,” Ledge said, reading from the attending physician’s notes. “Treated for superficial scratches on arms and hands.” He looked at Arden. “Sounds like defense wounds.”

They went back to the notes. Rusty had been admitted. He wasn’t discharged until Tuesday morning and was sent home with instructions to continue bed rest for several days, take prescribed pain medication as directed, and apply antibiotic cream to the scratches four times a day.

“I wonder how he explained his injuries to the medical staff. His parents.”

“He’s fluent in lying,” Ledge said as he refolded the forms and returned them to his pocket. “Making up an excuse wouldn’t have been a problem for him.”

He glanced toward the lake, then reached across Arden’s knees, popped open the glove box, and took out a large flashlight. “You want to come, or stay here?”

“Where are you going?”

“After reading the investigation report the other day, I came out here in daylight to do some exploring. But this is how Brian Foster would have seen it. In the dark.”

“Maybe it was a full moon that night.”

“It wasn’t.”

She gave him an inquisitive look.

“I remember from when those deputies made me get out of my car. As I was being frisked, I looked up at the sky, like ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ It was overcast. No moon to speak of. Drizzly off and on. Pretty much like tonight.”

She looked through the windshield at the eerie surroundings, then gamely opened the door and hopped down out of the truck. However, she got no farther than the grill before Ledge took her hand. Aiming the flashlight onto the ground, he said, “I don’t know if cottonmouths come out at night. Just in case, be careful where you step.”

She hesitated, but then fell into step beside him, close enough that their hips bumped as they walked. “Why would Foster or anyone venture out here alone?”

“I don’t think he did.”

“But the report said that his vehicle was discovered on the highway.”

“On the shoulder, near the turnoff.”

“His were the only fingerprints found inside or out of his car. No other footprints to indicate a passenger.”

“He came alone, but met someone here.”

“Inspectors were able to cast only one shoe impression near the water. They determined that it was Foster’s size shoe.”

“The water is shallow enough for someone to have waded here and ambushed him.”

“Defying water moccasins?”

“And alligators,” he added grimly. “Someone was determined to make that meeting.”

“My dad?”

“I saw in the report that you and Lisa were questioned about a boat.”

“It was older than he was. A tub. He had stopped taking it out after Mother died, so I’m not sure it was still floatable.”

“Did he know the lake well?”

She gave a soft laugh. “Like the back of his hand. He grew up on it. In his younger years, he was often called upon to help find people who’d gotten lost.” Looking troubled by the implications of that, she said, “But he was no longer young and robust. The drinking had taken a toll on his stamina. I can’t see him paddling a boat any distance, wading ashore, overpowering a much younger man, and then drowning him.”

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it? Rusty’s injuries indicate quite a struggle.” He shone the flashlight on the rough trunk of a nearby tree. “Splinters.”

They had gone as far as they could go without having to navigate through the viscous water and around cypress knees poking up through the surface. “A hard fall on one of those knobs could break your arm in two places and bruise your spleen. I think Rusty was here with Foster.”

Arden tugged on his hand, bringing him around to face her. “How did you make that connection? Injured spleen notwithstanding, it’s a giant leap to conclude that Rusty was involved.”

“I checked the county records. There was only one death over the three-day Easter weekend. Brian Foster’s. Rusty had one hell of a fight with someone, like someone who was fighting for his very life.”

“His body, enough of it, was retrieved from the animal for the medical examiner to rule it a death by drowning.”

“That was the cause of death,” Ledge said. “Foster could have drowned, or been drowned, before the gators got to him. They drag their prey down. He could’ve still been alive then, but not for long.”

Arden placed her fingertips against her lips. “Lord, that’s ghastly.”

“Yeah.” The horror of Foster’s death was worse than some of the things he’d witnessed or heard about during battles that often lasted for days. “His parents left disposing of his remains up to the county. Nice folks, huh?” he said. “However he died, the guy deserves for it to be explained.”

“I need it explained,” she said. “How did the two of them even know each other?”

“Rusty makes it his business to know everybody.”

“Yes. I sensed that today. He plays the role of hail-fellow-well-met.”

“Right.”

“Did you know Foster?”

“Not well. I’d met him. Couple of times.”

“At the store?”

On the edge of quicksand here, he made a motion with his shoulder that indicated a semi yes. “Welch’s was the kind of place where every time you’d go in, you’d bump into a dozen people you knew or recognized.”

“Why did it go out of business?”

“The kids and grandkids didn’t have the competitive spirit of old man Welch. When he died, so did the store. It happened while I was overseas.”

“My dad wouldn’t have had much of a future there even if circumstances had been different.”

“Guess not.”

“What was Brian Foster like?”

“He was a nerd. Timid. The anti-Rusty. Which I’m sure is why Rusty picked on him.” He soothed his conscience by asserting that none of what he’d told her was an outright lie. She was thinking it over. He hoped her frown was one of concentration, not doubt.

He continued. “I don’t how, or to what extent, Rusty was instrumental in Foster’s death. I can’t prove anything. But on the night Foster died a grisly death, Rusty, the walking wounded, showed up at Crystal’s house in more urgent need of an alibi than emergency medical treatment.”